Rattleyard
Rattleyard
A Y/A Novella
By European P. Douglas
Table of Contents
Title Page
Rattleyard
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
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Also by European P. Douglas
The Dolocher
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Copyright © 2016 European P. Douglas
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1523489383
ISBN-13: 978-1523489381
Published March 2016 by
Chapter 1
Crispin Constable drew in a deep breath of the evening mist as he stood at the back door of the house. He could still feel the heat from the kitchen behind him where the noise of clacking plates and cutlery being set followed him outside. The lights from the kitchen illuminated the end of the garden closest to the house but left the far end in complete darkness. As Crispin looked out, he could hear a strange noise from beyond the area of the lights falling. It was a tearing noise, like a cloth sack ripping, but duller. He listened more intently, but the voices from inside as his brothers and sisters fought about place settings and who was going to sit where drowned it out. He took a step onto the grass, craning his neck, but could see nothing. His feet were wet with the misted blades of grass under him, and he stepped back onto the porch steps. The noise had stopped. It was probably a dog burrowing for a bone, he thought.
Inside, the light seemed all the brighter for the darkness outside. Steam filled the room and coated the window with condensation. Mary and Elisha were pulling at one another for a seat at the table.
“I’m sitting there, Elisha!” Mary said, pulling hard on Elisha’s ponytail.
“No, I am!” Elisha replied, grabbing a handful of her sister’s hair. They were at a standoff now, and each winced in pain as the other pulled a little harder in retaliation.
“I’ll sit there, so you stop fighting about it!” Arthur said, interjecting his large body between the girls and the table.
“No fair,” they both wailed in injustice as they let go of one another’s braids. They protested a little, but Crispin knew that Arthur had a sway over them and would get his way. Since their father had passed away Arthur, being the oldest, had taken over the mantle of the man of the house. He was seventeen and big like their father had been; thick limbed and wide shouldered; the same blue misty eyes and blonde hair. Every day Arthur looked more like the man in the photograph that sat on the hall table, set there so they could all say goodbye and hello to their father as they came and went.
The reason the girls had been fighting about the seats was the Constable family’s current lodger, who the girls found utterly fascinating. He told them stories about his travels, and they loved his unshaven face and a cheeky grin. Crispin had to admit that he found Mr. Duggan- he made them all call him Dick- interesting and a likeable fellow. Dick was outside of town working on the new mine that was being constructed up in the hills just outside of town. It was an iron seam that had been found, and Dick said that it would be great for the town and would provide jobs for a lot of people around the area. Arthur asked him questions about mine work and Dick told him what he knew; or rather what he wanted them to know. He liked to tell about the dark depths of the world and how different it was to go days without seeing the sun or feeling its rays on your skin. It seemed as though Arthur was interested in becoming a miner, but their mother was not keen on the idea She did her best to temper his enthusiasm when Dick wasn’t around.
Their mother treated Dick with quiet respect but didn’t seem to warm to him in the way the rest of the family had. She did his washing and made his evening meal, and she was as nice to him as she would have been to anyone who was staying with them, but Crispin could sense something off in the way she interacted with Dick. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but she seemed to be ill at ease with him, and she never smiled when he was around. Even Francis- the youngest brother at five years old, who usually hated everyone- seemed to like him
“Sit down everyone!” their mother said. They all sat at the table and heard the shuffling about upstairs of Dick as he left his room to come down to dinner.
Dick arrived in the room with the same friendly smile and swagger as always. He walked to the edge of the table and stood behind the seat that was left vacant for him.
“Mrs. Constable,” he nodded. “Children,” and he nodded again to each of them before taking his seat.
“I hope you are well this evening Mr. Duggan?” their mother said as she told the children to begin eating. They all looked at their lodger as they waited for his answer. On one had even picked up so much as a piece of cutlery to get started yet.
“As well as always thank you,” he replied as Elisha leaned across the table to offer him the potato bowl.
“I hear there was a man hurt at the mine today,” Arthur said to Dick. Crispin saw his mother look at Arthur unhappily; she didn’t like there to be talk of the mine at the table.
“Just a little fall,” Dick said smiling cheerily. “That man wasn’t following the rules, and he paid for it.” Their mother looked at Dick with an open mouth, her eyes wide. “He's all right; just a few bruises,” he assured her with a smile.
“Mining is very dangerous,” she said.
“If you're not careful I suppose,” Dick said.
“But then, everything is dangerous if you’re not careful,” Arthur added in a way that seemed to Crispin to be a weak attempt at Dick’s style of talking.
“Some are inherently more dangerous than others, though,” their mother said.
“That’s true,” Dick agreed with a secret wink to Arthur that Crispin spotted.
Crispin was twelve years old and at that stage where he was beginning to question everything that came across him in life. He would ask his mother all sorts of things, like why people didn’t all have the same amount of money, or live in the same type of houses. Why had their father not lived at home when he worked in the mines? The world was an endless curiosity for him.
He had his father’s blonde hair like Arthur did, but he had yet to develop the physique that they both had. At the moment he was short and thin and looked like a stiff breeze could carry him off, but he knew he was stronger than he looked and he was quite good and climbing and other activities that called for a nimble body. He looked at the bulk of their lodger and wondered would he ever be that big. Dick was tall and lean, with big muscles that bulged in his clothes. His shoulders wide and he looked like he wore very large sized shoes. When he stood up inside, he always checked how low lights and other fixtures were hanging so he didn’t bump his head.
“What do you do at the mine?” he asked Dick.
“I’m one of the boring people; I work with soil and try to find out where the best place to dig would be.”
“So you find the gold, and then other people dig it out?”
“If it were gold we were mining I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, I’d just dig it up myself!” He smiled, and they all went along in it.
“It’s an iron mine they’re digging here,” Arthur said. It was all the same as far as Crispin was concerned; rocks were rocks. He had a fear of mines even though he had never seen
one; this was one of the reasons he found Dick so fascinating, he lived a life that so scared Crispin and yet Dick seemed to be calm and cheerful all the time. Their father had been killed in an accident in a place called Horseshoe Mountain while working in a mine. He wondered if Dick was ever in danger in the mines. He wanted to ask, but he knew this would upset his mother, so he didn’t say anything.
Chapter 2
Crispin looked out over the mountains from the back porch. It was a bright morning, and though there was a light heat haze in the middle distance, he could see the large formations themselves quite clearly. He had always thought of the mountains as such magical places, often imagining climbing the jagged peaks, or exploring the caves that ran through them. Unfortunately, he had never been to those mountains despite their proximity to his home- only three miles to the first peaks.
Now the mining company was going to be working there, and there would be new tunnels dug and the miners would be living out his fantasies.
There was a ring at the front doorbell. Crispin walked through the house but by the time he got there his mother had just answered.
“Letter for Mr. Duggan,” a boy’s voice said. Crispin’s mother took the letter and without looking at it handed it to Crispin.
“Run upstairs and give this to Mr. Duggan,” she said handing it to him. He took the letter, ran up the stairs and knocked on Dick’s door. For a moment, there was no noise. He knocked again and then he heard a groan; a man not yet awake.
“Letter for you Mr. Duggan,” he called out. He looked down to see if his mother was still at the bottom of the stairs. She wasn’t.
“Coming,” the tired voice called back. Crispin listened as he heard the squeaking springs of the bed and then the creaks of the floorboards; the wardrobe door opened and was shut quickly and clothes were being pulled about The door opened, and Dick stood there with bleary eyes, his hair tousled, and his clothes thick with dust from the mines. He took the letter Crispin held out for him.
“Thanks, Crisp,” he said, and he read the contents. As he did his face began to change, but he stopped reading and looked back at Crispin, “I’ll give you something for this later kid, okay?” and he closed the door.
Crispin stood there for a moment and listened. He heard the rustle of the paper as Dick must have been reading it again. All of a sudden, frantic sounds came from the room, the clatter of boots hitting the floor and the harsh zipper of a bag being wrenched open. Crispin ran down the hall and into his mother’s room just as Dick came bounding out and down the stairs at a run. Crispin stepped back out and looked down after him, catching sight of him opening the front door.
“Sorry Mrs. Constable, urgent business, I’ll see you later!” he called out, and then the front door was closed, and there was silence in the house.
His mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked out through the net curtains covering the two thin windows that ran down either side of the front door.
“What was that all about?” she mused out loud.
“I think there was something bad in the letter,” Crispin said. She turned to see him upstairs. “I don’t know what, but his face changed when he started reading it,” Crispin added, so his mother knew that he hadn’t read the letter before giving it to Dick. His mother nodded absently but didn’t say anything and then disappeared from the bottom of the stairs; he could hear her shuffle back towards the rear of the house.
Crispin remained at the top of the stairs and wondered what could have been in that letter. Dick was so mysterious, but this looked like it was something that upset him or maybe even scared him. He itched to get inside the lodger’s room and see what was in the trunk he had carried in with him that first night when he’d thought they were all in bed and...
The door was open now! Dick had rushed out so fast, and Crispin was sure that he hadn’t heard the click of the lock when he left. He glanced once more down the stairs and arched to try to hear his mother. Some dishes clattered in the sink. Crispin crept to the door and put his hand on the knob but he stopped. His whole life of listening to his mother about respecting the privacy of guests in the house was weighing him down as he built up his will to try to overcome it. In his head he could still hears the Arthur’s howls from the paddling he’d received for sneaking about this very same room a few years ago; the last time that anyone dared infringe on this rule.
It was taking an age, and he was worried that his mother would come up the stairs before his will won out. Finally, he twisted and pushed gently, and the door gave a little. He let go of the knob in shock and stood there for a moment. You’ve come this far so you may as well go on, he thought. He pushed the door with his foot, and when it was open just enough for him to get in he squeezed through, closing the door quickly, but quietly behind him.
He examined the room with a slow glance around. The bed was unmade, and there were clothes strewn about it and on the floor. A pitcher of water with a glass stood on the bedside table. There was a book there too, and Crispin picked it up and looked at it.
“European Mining in the 17th Century, boring,” he said softly putting it back down. There were charts on a table by the window, maps and diagrams of things Crispin didn’t understand. He looked under the bed for the trunk, but it wasn’t there. He opened the wardrobe door. It creaked loudly, and Crispin stopped dead to listen, his heart racing lest he should be caught in here. He peeked around the door, but there was no trunk in there either, just more clothes and boots. He closed the door of the wardrobe quickly to limit the noise. There was nowhere else in the room where it might be. Could he have taken it out of the house again under the cover of night when they all were asleep, maybe? Crispin looked once more at the papers on the table, but there was nothing there that interested him still. He walked back to the door, deflated about not finding what had so piqued his curiosity. He was still terrified that his mother or Dick would catch him as he left the room. He looked once more around the room as he placed his hand on the door knob and then he saw it! It was up on top of the wardrobe. He tiptoed back over as quietly as he could, lifting the chair back from the table and placing it in front of the wardrobe as lightly as possible. He stood up on it, and could feel it give a little under his weight, the low creaking like a warning of impending doom. He stood still for a moment as though this would make him weigh less. He reached up and pushed the trunk to test its weight, and he was happy that he would be able to lift it down. He pulled it to the edge and then lifted it gently, feeling the weight of something move inside. He stepped down from the chair and put the trunk on it, holding his breath as he undid the clasp on the front. He opened the top and looked inside.
It was filled with papers and notebooks, and he saw the word ‘Rattleyard’ a few times and....
“Crispin Constable!” He jumped with fright at the calling of his name and turned to see his mother standing at the door. “How dare you!” Crispin closed the trunk and stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Where did you get this trunk?” she asked.
“On top of the wardrobe,” Crispin answered. His mother closed the clasp on the chest, picked it up, and put it back.
“Get out of here,” she said, and as Crispin began to walk away, she slapped him hard on the back of the legs three times. His skin scalded as he ran the short distance to his bedroom with tears in his eyes.
Chapter 3
Crispin woke from a strange dream that he lost trace of almost immediately; something of crumbling earth, something rising from under a mound of rock and mud. For a moment, he tried to recapture its glow, but he was fully waking up and losing it for good. He heard a shuffle and looked up. Arthur was at the window looking out through the pulled up blinds, the blue night filling the room around him.
“What are you looking at?” Crispin asked.
“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Arthur answered. Crispin kicked off his sheets and crawled to the end of the bed, peering out into the night. They were both silent.
Crispin couldn’t see anything moving out there. He looked up at Arthur to ask again, but his older brother held up a hand to stay him. And then Crispin heard it. It was that same ripping noise that he had heard in the garden a few nights ago. They both cocked ears and then followed their ears with their eyes. It seemed to be coming from the centre of the garden, but there was nothing on the clear grass, and no shadows to hide anything.
“What do you think it is?” Crispin asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “It sounds like the earth is moving underground.”
“Do you think the miners are under the house?”
“No, don’t be so stupid. The mine is miles away from here, and they don’t dig under people’s houses.”
“Then what is it?” Crispin demanded, hoping to make Arthur feel as stupid as he’d made him feel just now.
The ripping sounded again, and they looked again hoping to see the grass move or anything to show them where it was coming from. It was getting closer to the house. Crispin felt a chill run through him; both from the cold on his mostly naked flesh and the fear of something subterranean closing in on the house.
“I heard that noise the other night before dinner when I was out on the back porch,” he said.
“Did you see anything?”
“No, it was too dark out.” There was silence between them again as they watched and listened to the back garden. There was nothing for a long time.
“It must have gone for now,” Arthur said. He hesitated a moment before letting the blinds drop back down. “Go back to bed, Crispin,” he said, and he clambered back into his bed. Crispin did as he was told and wrapped the sheets up over his shoulders, shuddering as he tried to draw the heat back into himself.
The next morning, Crispin and his mother were at the back door sorting the clothes to hang on the washing line, when there was a sudden terribly loud crack and the ground shook beneath them. They both stood in shock for a moment. Then Mrs. Constable grabbed Crispin in a natural mother’s protective embrace.