The Stone-Chucker

    Straight after breakfast a big, burly farmer's lad hammered on the back door with both fists, as if his very life depended on it.

    'What are you trying to do, you big lummox?' cried the Spook, opening the door wide. 'Break the blooming thing?'

    The lad stopped banging at the door and his face turned a bright red. T asked for you down in the village,' he said, pointing back towards Adlington. 'A carpenter came out of his yard and pointed the way up here. He told me to knock hard at the back door.'

    'Aye, but he said knock, not thump it back into a tree,' said the Spook angrily. 'Anyway what's your business with me?'

    'Dad sent me. He said to come right away. It's a bad business. A man's dead.'

    'Who's your dad?' asked the Spook.

    'Henry Luddock. We're at Stone Farm near Owshaw Clough.'

    'I've met your dad and I've worked for him before. Are you William, by any chance?' 'That's right...'

    'Well, William, the last time I visited Stone Farm, you were just a tiny babe in arms. Now, I can see you're upset, so come inside and take the weight off your feet. Then take a deep breath, calm yourself and start right at the beginning. I want all the details, so leave nothing out,' ordered the Spook.

    As we walked through the kitchen to reach the parlour, I saw no sign at all of Meg. When she wasn't working it was usual for her to sit in her rocking chair, warming her hands at the kitchen fire. I wondered if she was keeping out the way now we had visitors - something she should have done when the groceries were delivered by Shanks.

    Once in the parlour, William began his tale of events that had begun badly and then got a whole lot worse. It seemed that a boggart, probably the one my master and I heard passing along the ley line nights before, had settled itself at Stone Farm, starting its mischief by making a few noises during the night. It had rattled the pots and pans in the kitchen, banged on the front door and thumped the walls a few times. That was enough for me to identify it right away from the notes I had made about boggarts.

    It was a hall-knocker, so I'd already guessed what was coming next in William's story. The next morning it had started throwing stones. At first they were just small pebbles which it pinged against the windows, rolled down the slates or dropped down the chimney. Then the stones got bigger. Much bigger.

    The Spook had taught me that hall-knockers sometimes developed into stone-chuckers. These were bad-tempered boggarts and very dangerous to deal with. The dead man was a shepherd employed by Henry Luddock. His body was found on the lower slope of the moor.

    'He'd been brained,' William told us. 'The stone that did it was bigger than his head.'

    'Can you be sure it wasn't an accident?' the Spook asked. 'He might just have tripped up, fallen and bashed himself.'

    'We're sure all right: he was lying on his back and the stone was on top of him. Then, while we were bringing the body down, other stones started falling around us. It was terrible. I thought I was going to die. So will you come and help? Please. My dad's going mad with worry. There's work to be done but it's not safe to go outdoors.'

    'Aye, go back and tell your dad I'm on my way. As for the work, milk the cows and do only what's necessary. The sheep can take care of themselves, at least until the snows come, so stay off the hillside.'

    When William had left, the Spook turned to me and shook his head gravely. 'It's a bad business, lad,' he said. 'Stone-chuckers cause mischief but rarely kill, so this one's a rogue that could well do the same again. I've sorted out one or two like this before and usually ended up with at least a bad headache for my trouble. It's different to dealing with a ripper, but sometimes it can be just as dangerous. Spooks have been killed by stone-chuckers.'

    I'd dealt with a ripper in the autumn. The Spook had been ill and I'd had to do it without him, helped by a rigger and his mate. It had been pretty scary because rippers kill their prey. This was scary too, but in a different way. There wasn't much you could do to defend yourself against boulders falling from the sky!

    'Well, someone has to do it!' I said with a smile, putting a brave face on it.

    The Spook nodded gravely. 'They certainly do, lad, so let's get on with it.'

    There was something that had to be done before we left. The Spook led me back into the parlour and told me to take down the brown bottle labelled 'herb tea'.

    'Make Meg up another drink, lad,' said the Spook.

    'Only this time make it stronger. Pour out a good couple of inches. That'll do the trick because we should be back within the week.'

    I did as I was told, using at least two inches of the dark mixture. Then I boiled the kettle and filled the cup almost to the brim with hot water.

    'Drink this, Meg,' the Spook told her as I handed her the steaming cup. 'You'll need this because the weather's turning colder and it might make your bones ache.'

    Meg smiled at him and within ten minutes she'd drained the cup and her head was already beginning to nod. The Spook handed me the key to the gate on the stairs and told me to lead the way. Then he picked Meg up as if she were a baby and followed hard on my heels.

    I unlocked the gate, then went down the steps and waited at the middle door of the three while my master carried Meg into the darkness inside. He left the door open and I could hear every word he said to her.

    'Goodnight, my love' he said. 'Dream about our garden.'

    I'm sure I shouldn't have heard that, but I had, and I did feel a little embarrassed to hear my master of all people talk like that.

    And what garden was the Spook talking about? Did he mean the gardens at Chipenden? If so, I hoped he meant the western garden with its view of the fells. The other two, with their boggart pits and graves for witches, didn't bear thinking about.

    Meg said nothing in reply, but the Spook must have woken her up when he came out and locked the door behind him, because she suddenly started to cry like a child afraid of the dark. Hearing that sound, the Spook paused and we waited outside the door a long time until the crying finally subsided and was replaced by another very faint sound. I could hear the breath whistling out through Meg's teeth as she exhaled,.

    'She's all right now' I said quietly to my master. 'She's asleep. I can hear her snoring.'

    'Nay, lad!' said the Spook, giving me one of his withering glances. 'It's more like singing than snoring!'

    Well, it certainly sounded like snoring to me, and all

    I could think was that the Spook didn't like even the slightest criticism of Meg. Anyway, that said, we went up, locked the gate behind us and packed our things for the journey.

    We went east, climbing deeper into the clough, until it grew so narrow that we were almost walking in the stream and there was just a tiny crack of grey sky above us. Then, to my surprise, we came to some steps cut into the rock.

    They were narrow, steep steps, slippery with patches of ice. I was carrying the Spook's heavy bag, which meant that, if I slipped, I only had one hand free to save myself.

    Following my master, I managed to get to the top in one piece and it was certainly worth the climb because I was back in the fresh air again, with wide open spaces on every side. The wind was gusting fit to blow us right off the moor and the clouds were dark and menacing, racing so close above our heads that it felt like you could almost reach up and touch them.