This is how it happened. On our way home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I asked Shane what was the amazing thing he was going to bring to the history class.
‘You don’t have anything at all,’ I said. ‘I know everything you have in your room, Shane, and you don’t have anything interesting. It’s all junk.’
‘It’s not in my room, Milo,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll show you where it is. But if you tell anyone I’ll drown you in sloppy cow-dung.’
I followed him through his gran’s wild garden, to a bumpy area with piles of stones that were half hidden in the long grass.
‘What are we coming here for?’ I asked. ‘There’s nothing only grass and stones.’
‘Not just any stones, Milo,’ said Shane, stooping to pick one up. ‘These were collected by Mister Lewis.’
‘Who’s Mister Lewis?’ I asked.
‘He lived in our house back in eighteen something-or-other,’ explained Shane. ‘He used to collect stones. Hundreds of them. He is supposed to have said that there was something special about the stones around here, so Gran says.’
‘That’s mental,’ I laughed. ‘Who’d want to collect stones?’
Shane shrugged. ‘Well, he did. That’s what Gran was told when she bought the house. I suppose people didn’t have much to do back then.’
‘What a saddo he was,’ I hooted. ‘Imagine − collecting stones!’
Shane pointed to the ground. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘They were all buried here.’
‘But these aren’t buried,’ I said, pointing to a pile of stones.
‘They once were,’ said Shane. ‘Gran has been digging them up. She’s going to build a studio here, and says she’s damned if she’s going to pay a builder to clear the site when she can do it herself. And me, of course,’ he added. ‘I get roped in to help. You can help too, Milo.’
‘So what’s that got to do with the history stuff?’ I asked, neatly side-stepping the ‘help’ word. ‘This is just a load of grotty stones.’
‘Not grotty,’ retorted Shane, reaching into the pile and pulling up a stone shaped like a half moon. ‘This one is really old.’
‘All stones are old, Shane. Even you should know that. It takes millions of years to grow stones.’
‘Ah, but this is different, Milo,’ said Shane. ‘Here, feel it.’
I took the stone. It was like a small broken wheel. On one side there was a pretty clear imprint of a fossil-ish thing.
‘That’s a prehistoric reptile,’ said Shane. ‘You can even see the scales. But that’s not the best thing. Turn the stone over.’
I did, and gasped when I saw the pattern of circles inside circles, just like the pattern on the huge stone outside the ancient burial place at Newgrange in County Meath. We’d gone there on a school outing once, and Miss Lee had told us that it was even older than the pyramids in Egypt. Shane said it was a pity they didn’t have mummies and other dead stuff in there for a better atmosphere.
I touched the pattern. That was when I got the first strange feeling. My fingers tingled and a shiver went around my neck and shoulders. Shane was watching me and smiling.
‘See? You feel it too. I bet you feel all shivery, don’t you? Just like me and Gran did. She said that pattern was carved by Celts about three thousand years ago.’
‘Yecch!’ I said, thrusting the stone back into his hands. ‘You’re one sicko. Do you know that? Making me hold something that dead people handled.’
Shane laughed. ‘But they weren’t dead when they carved it, you dope,’ he said.
‘I told you, Shane, all stones are ancient. Except for a few scratchy carvings on it, this looks just like any other.’
Shane shook his head. ‘My gran says …’ he began.
‘Shane!’ I laughed. ‘I love your gran, I do. But you do know she does mad arty stuff and talks to dandelions. Come on, mate, wise up. One of you has to stay sane.’
‘Hey,’ retorted Shane. ‘That’s Big Ella you’re talking about, and she knows everything.’
‘Well, I hope that’s not your history thing, Shane,’ I went on. ‘It gives me the creeps.’
Shane grinned. ‘Of course it’s my history thing,’ he said. ‘Who else will have something as amazing as this?’
I shivered again. But I didn’t know why. Not then.