We used to live in New England. Actually it’s more like Norway than England, with remote, rolling countryside, thickly wooded hills and clapboard houses half hidden amongst the trees. The local community was isolated and there had been rumours of witchcraft in the last century.
At that time, my brother Zak and I were often looked after by sitters while our parents went out to dinner or the theatre. Our father was doing a five-year stint with an American insurance company and they were often asked out for business entertainment, so they were always hunting for good sitters.
But Zak and I used to resent being in this house miles from anywhere. There was no one to play with and we were too dependent on each other. He’s five years older than me and didn’t want to play with a boring baby sister and I didn’t want to have anything to do with a rough idiot of a brother.
So we took it out on the sitters, and gave them hell. They didn’t stay long. One of them tripped over a piece of tightly stretched black nylon and broke her ankle, and an older one, Ellie Harbottle – well, we put glue on the toilet seat, and she really got stuck. Dad was furious. Then one weekend he said he’d found absolutely the right person in the nearby town of Salem. Apparently she was known to be quiet, strict and determined – her name was Carrie Hewlett. I have to say that from that moment on we viewed her as a challenge.
Carrie was a bit of a shock when she came. She was small and young, but she wore a sober dress, dark cardigan, grey stockings and flat, sensible shoes. Her hair was done up into a bun and her face had that well-scrubbed look. She smelt of soap and washing-powder.
‘I want to make one thing clear to you guys,’ she said as she plumped down on the sofa and got out some knitting. ‘You give me trouble and I’ll get your dad to lambaste you.’
Neither Zak nor I knew what lambaste meant – but it didn’t sound too good. What was worse, Dad had been getting very tough recently, particularly since the sitters had been going down so fast. Maybe he would do what Carrie said.
‘Shall I turn on the TV for you?’ I asked, hoping to chat her up a bit and give her a false sense of security.
‘Never watch it.’
‘Do you mind if we do –’
‘Sure I mind.’
‘What?’ asked Zak, amazed.
‘Watching TV’s a real bad thing to do. I’ve brought you some books to read.’
‘I don’t read books,’ said Zak firmly.
‘Not that kind anyway,’ I told her, as she put two large volumes down on the table.
‘Take your pick.’ She smiled as if she had given us a real treat and resumed her knitting.
Both of the books looked deadly. One was called One Hundred Uplifting Examples of Moral Heroism, the other Pastor Mustard Tells the Good News. We sat at the table, turning the pages and pretending that we were reading, but secretly plotting.
‘Do you enjoy books like this?’ asked Zak, trying to draw her out.
‘Sure I do.’ Her face was pale but radiant, and her big blue eyes were alive with enthusiasm.
‘Where did you get them?’ he persisted.
She smiled at him brightly. There was something nasty about that smile. For the first time in my life I was afraid of an adult. As for Zak, I knew by the fixed way he was looking at her that he was scared too.
‘I got them from our library.’
‘Your home library?’
‘Oh no. The society’s library.’
‘What society is that?’ I asked her curiously.
‘The Society of Love.’
‘Is that a Church?’
‘No. It’s a company of friends and believers.’
‘What do you believe in?’ asked Zak, and Carrie met his gaze with a cold, blue stare that seemed to penetrate right through him.
‘Purity. Purity of spirit, of living, of behaving.’
I thought of all the bad things we’d done to the other sitters. We hadn’t been very pure – and Carrie definitely wouldn’t have approved.
‘How does the society … operate?’ asked Zak more hesitantly.
‘We meet and talk in our little wooden hall that’s tucked right away in the woods. And we pledge ourselves to purity.’
‘How do you do that?’ I got in before Zak could ask another question. I frowned at him.
‘We drink from the cup. There is only one direction. One life. We love little children because they are at their most pure.’ Carrie gave me a special, strong, all-embracing smile. Then she turned to Zak and her smile snapped off. ‘But of course, little children grow up and become corrupt.’ She paused. ‘Are you corrupt, Zak?’
‘No,’ he said virtuously. ‘Not at all.’
Carrie looked away. Has she ever had any fun in her life, I thought. Has she ever been corrupt herself?
‘Do you all drink from the cup?’ Zak asked, ignoring my warning glance.
‘When it’s filled.’
Zak seemed fascinated by her flashing knitting-needles. They were going so fast that they were almost a blur.
‘But what’s it full of?’
She smiled again and we were almost mesmerized by her startling radiance. ‘Why – the stuff of life, of course. Now you two should be in bed, shouldn’t you?’
It was too early, but neither of us cared. We were only too glad to go upstairs and talk about her.
‘She’s awful.’ Zak sat on the end of my bed.
‘Keep your voice down,’ I admonished him.
‘We’ve got to get rid of her.’
‘She’ll be tricky.’
‘But she’s only a kid.’ Zak was thoughtful. ‘There must be a way –’
‘She scares me.’
‘Yes – she does me.’
I looked at him in amazement. He never admitted to weakness, so he must have been scared.
‘What are we going to do then?’
My brother grinned, but the grin was shaky. ‘We could scare the living daylights out of her. You can see she’s led a sheltered life.’
‘Be careful, Zak. There’s something about her. That look.’
‘I mean she’s tough.’
‘Tough, eh?’
I couldn’t have said a worse thing, because Zak loved a challenge. ‘I wonder if she’d be tough enough to face up to a bit of a fright?’
‘What kind of fright did you have in mind?’
‘You know my cassette deck and speakers?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know I record on them.’
‘Yes.’ I was feeling very wary now.
‘You know I’ve got that long extension lead –’
‘Zak, you’ve got to be careful.’
‘I’ve got a plan to scare old droopy drawers – out of her droopy drawers.’
As he began to explain I grew even more afraid. I was sure Zak didn’t understand who he was taking on.
‘Are you asleep?’
‘Mm.’ I was pretending to be.
Carrie stood in the doorway, a shawl over her shoulders, looking sallow but still bright-eyed. ‘Shall I come in and tuck you up?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Would you like a story? I know your brother wouldn’t. He’s too old.’
To cover up what I knew Zak was doing in the garden, I agreed to the story – just in case Carrie went and checked in his bedroom. She sat on the end of my bed and I smelt the sensible soap. For some reason the smell scared me.
‘What would you like?’
‘Er –’ I was at a loss.
‘A fairy story?’
‘I suppose –’
‘Or a poem? I’m rather partial to poems. Would you like to have a poem?’
‘Yes – I’d love to hear a poem.’
‘Very well. Let me see.’ She tossed her head back, and then, to my amazement, began to sing a nursery rhyme.
‘Ding, dong, bell, pussy’s in the well.
Who put her in? Little Johnny Green.
Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
And killed the mice in his father’s barn.’
I listened dutifully, but as I listened I shivered. Carrie obviously hated boys. She was really strange.
‘Does Zak persecute cats?’
‘Oh no. He loves them.’ I thought she looked rather disappointed, so I was determined to probe a bit more. ‘Can I ask you a question about your society?’
‘Of course,’ she agreed readily, but I thought I caught a cautious look in her eye.
‘Do you have boys in it?’
She shook her head and looked grim. ‘Never. I think they’re a waste of space, don’t you?’
Suddenly I felt very sleepy. Carrie showed no signs of going away. How long was Zak going to be in the garden, I wondered.
My eyes closed despite my attempts to keep awake, and for a few moments I must have drifted off to sleep. When I awoke there was a sharp stinging on my neck. The room was dark, but I could hear Carrie singing and using the vacuum cleaner outside. What was this stinging? My hand went to my neck and in my horror I touched a substance that was sticky and red. Blood. I began to scream.
Carrie convinced me I’d dropped off to sleep and somehow lain on my comb. I often untangled my hair before going off to sleep and I suppose it was possible that I had made the pinpricks in my throat that way. I looked at the comb doubtfully – it seemed very blunt to me.
Carrie put a plaster on my neck and I felt better. Then I caught sight of a red stain on the carpet just outside my bedroom door.
‘What’s that stain?’ I asked.
For the first time, Carrie looked uncomfortable. ‘I dropped something. Guess I thought I’d vacuumed it all up.’
‘You don’t get rid of a stain with a vacuum.’
‘No.’ She was very much on the defensive and I instinctively pressed home the advantage.
‘What did you drop?’
‘Little jar of mine.’
‘What was in it?’
‘Some, er – some perfume. It was red.’
‘Perfume? You wouldn’t use perfume!’ I was completely astounded. ‘I mean perfume’s corrupt, isn’t it, by your book?’
‘It belonged to my grandmother. Guess it’s sentimental … Anyway, I’ll get some stain remover and –’
Suddenly, a sinister, amplified voice came from the garden below.
‘CARRIE HEWLETT – YOU OF THE PURE SOUL–’
She froze, turning towards the sound with wild eyes, as if the age of miracles had finally arrived and she was about to witness Armageddon – the end of the world.
‘What’s that?’ she whispered.
‘YE WHO HAVE LIVED FOR PURITY, HEAR THIS.’
Carrie flattened herself against the wall.
‘YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE. YOU ARE TO BE OUR GUIDE. YOU MUST GO TO THAT GREAT CITY OF PURITY.’
I watched Carrie gradually move away from the wall, the suspicion growing in her eyes. Her suspicion turned to anger. Could she have recognized that amplified voice?
The music blared out without warning and the singer relentlessly proclaimed, ‘NEW YORK, NEW YORK. IT’S A WONDERFUL TOWN.’
Carrie’s eyes flashed with fury and she turned to me. ‘Your brother –’
‘Er –’
‘It’s your brother, isn’t it?’
‘It’s only a joke.’
‘Mocking me.’
‘Just a joke!’ I repeated.
‘He’ll mock me no longer!’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Take him into the pit.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, trying to leap out of bed, but she gave me a hard shove that sent me flying back over the duvet.
‘He shall be punished.’
‘Don’t hurt him.’
She smiled at me mockingly, but it was more like a snarl than a smile.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ I whispered again. ‘It was only a joke.’
She laughed, and when Carrie opened her mouth I could see her teeth. They were even and clean and white. But it was the one in the centre that terrified me. The tooth was long and pointed and razor sharp. Her eyes burnt with a terrible longing.
I followed Carrie, but she ran like a gazelle, and I soon lost her in the wild part of the garden.
But then I heard Zak give a sudden cry – a cry of terrible fear. I came to an abrupt halt, frozen, trying to detect where he was, but realizing I had lost all sense of direction in the wilderness.
After what seemed ages I heard Carrie’s voice howling with rage. ‘You are corrupt,’ she screamed. ‘All boys are corrupt.’ This was followed by the repeated sound of breaking and smashing and I knew she must be hitting his cassette deck against a tree. ‘Now,’ she said finally. ‘Now.’
I knew she was going to attack Zak. There was no sound from him and I guessed he was rooted to the spot with fear.
But he must have made an amazing recovery because suddenly I could hear him running through the undergrowth, with Carrie howling like a banshee behind him. The noise of the chase continued, sometimes coming closer to me, sometimes dying away. Then there was a silence which lengthened and deepened. Had she caught him? Had Carrie strangled my brother? Or had he, by some miracle, got away?
Then I heard her voice, loud and commanding and vengeful. ‘You will be punished,’ she said.
And the silence returned.
I found Zak by a stream, unharmed but shaken. ‘You OK?’ he demanded.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s that mark on your neck?’
‘I went to sleep and lay on my comb,’ I said. ‘It cut me.’
‘A comb wouldn’t do that.’
‘Carrie would …’ He paused, panting slightly, still trembling.
‘Where is she?’
‘Gone. Did you see her tooth?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought she was going to attack me. She was in a furious temper. But she didn’t touch me.’
‘Why not?’
‘She ran off.’ Zak pointed at the dusty leaves of the white-flowered plants illuminated by the pale moonlight.
‘I don’t understand –’
‘That stuff down there. It’s wild garlic’
‘I still have the scar,’ said Joanna. They had moved away from the tombs now and were huddled together in a corner on the cold stone floor.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it?’ said Jud. ‘I had an experience I’ve never wanted to talk about, but I s’pose it’s a bit similar. It happened at school actually. Are you going to share this with me, Alex?’
‘Share?’ asked Jon.
‘We went to the same boarding-school, in Northumberland,’ replied Alex. ‘And we had this awful experience, didn’t we? But neither of us has ever talked about it. We thought we’d be laughed at, and anyway, we were scared out of our minds. Maybe it’ll help to talk about it now. Shall I start, Jud?’