The track was a jungle of nettles and brambles.
‘Even Tarzan wouldn’t get past this lot!’ Tom sat on a tree stump and took a swig from his can.
Ali was keen to go home. ‘Let’s forget it. There won’t be anything there.’
Tom stood on the stump. ‘I can see something. It’s a roof. It must be one of the sheds. I’ve got to take a look while we’re here.’
Ali sighed. ‘It’ll take all day. Why don’t we come back at the weekend with hedge cutters?’
‘Hey – that’s one of your best ideas yet.’
Tom had never met his great, great Uncle Edgar. The old man had locked himself away for years in the farmhouse. He never let anyone come to see him. And that’s where he died, two months ago, at the grand age of ninety-nine. The police had to break down his front door. He’d been dead for days.
Ali went with Tom to the funeral, where they were surprised at how many people turned up. Uncle Edgar had been quite famous and had won medals in the Second World War. Then he’d worked in Africa, before hiding away in his old farmhouse, which became a real tip and full of junk. It took weeks to clear everything out, before anyone could start on the sheds and barns.
For most of Saturday, Tom and Ali hacked their way up the track to a row of sheds. The timber was rotten. Ivy and brambles had taken hold.
‘No one’s been here for fifty years, I reckon,’ Tom said. ‘This shed’s like Fort Knox. Look at those chains and locks!’
They needed bolt-cutters to open the door, even though its hinges had almost rusted through. A curtain of cobwebs shimmered where bats hung from the rafters. Rats scuttled, as light spilled inside. The first light for fifty years.
‘Yuk. What a smell of mould. I’m not going in there!’ Ali stood outside while Tom went in.
‘Help me pull the other door open,’ he called. ‘I need more light. There’s something in here.’
Shafts of dusty light cut through the gloom, where a rotten rug covered something big.
‘I don’t like it,’ Ali said. ‘There’s something scary here. I felt an icy shiver. I tell you, Tom – I don’t like it.’
But Tom was already pulling the rug to the floor, in a cloud of dust. Ali sneezed and turned away. Old, rat-chewed sacks slid to the ground as Tom stood back, his mouth wide open. ‘Wow! Just look at that beauty!’
Ali shrugged. ‘Big deal,’ she said. But Tom was already wiping the bonnet. ‘Don’t you see, Ali? It’s an old Series One Land Rover. I’d kill to get my hands on one of these!’
They didn’t hear the sound. Like something stirring.
It took a week to clear the track for the pick-up truck to tow away the Land Rover. Tom’s dad said he could keep the old Land Rover to work on. Even though it was in a bad way, for Tom it was like a dream come true. The tyres were no good and a lot of the bodywork had rusted. The front seats were eaten by rats and the engine needed major work. But Tom was keen to give it a go. He and some work mates spent all their spare time repairing and re-building it.
‘My Series One Land Rover was made between 1948 and 1953,’ Tom told everyone. ‘It’s an 80-inch wheelbase and I’m fitting a 1595cc petrol engine.’
He went on about the gears, front wheel drive and every new rivet and screw.
It took over his life. Ali hardly saw him and had to phone to ask how he was getting on.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon be joining me on my first drive in it.’
‘You must be joking,’ she snapped. ‘That Land Rover gives me the creeps. You’ll never get me inside that thing.’
Late at night, while working alone, Tom removed the back seat. He wasn’t ready for what he found hidden under it. He lifted out a small leather case. But that wasn’t all. He stood back in horror. Beside it, wrapped in cloth, was a human skull.
‘I knew there was something weird about that thing,’ Ali said. ‘I feel cold inside if I go anywhere near it.’
‘Really?’ Tom said. ‘It’s not so with me. Sometimes when I’m working inside it I get really hot.’
Ali began going through letters and photos in the old case.
‘It seems your Uncle Edgar took the Land Rover to Egypt in 1949. He went with his wife, your Auntie May, to explore old tombs. Here’s a photo of the Land Rover by a pyramid. And there’s Uncle Edgar with his arm round a young woman. She must be Auntie May.’
Tom looked at the photo. ‘She looks really cool.’
Ali flicked his ear. ‘Auntie May, or your precious Land Rover?’
‘The Land Rover, of course!’
‘Tom! Poor Auntie May died just after that photo. There’s a letter here. Listen to this.
‘My poor May died in her tent last night. It was so sudden. They say it was a snake bite. I’m not so sure. It could be the curse of the tomb. The skull was beside her in the tent.’
A cold wind blew as Tom went back to the workshop. He looked at the skull on a pile of oily rags. Could there really be a curse?
The heat hit him as soon as he opened the Land Rover. A dry, intense heat and a strange smell. The driver’s seat was covered in fine sand. He was sure he heard the buzzing of flies … followed by something else. The hiss of a snake.
Tom ran into the house. He didn’t tell Ali about the noises in the Land Rover. But he needed to know more. They found a note that Uncle Edgar wrote, after he came home from Egypt.
‘The curse has followed me home. This morning Patsy was playing in the bedroom. I saw her touch the skull on the shelf. It was the last time I saw her alive. Dear Patsy was just six. Doctors said her arm was swollen from deadly poison – from a scorpion sting.
It’s time to do something fast. I should never have dug up that skull. It should be left to rest in peace. I will hide every memory of that fateful Egypt trip. I can’t bear to see the Land Rover any more. It must all be hidden forever.’
‘There’s only one thing for it,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll have to put that skull to rest. I’ll nail it in a wooden box and bury it at the bottom of the garden.’
He dug a deep hole under the holly tree and buried the box inside. After filling the hole with soil and stamping turf on top, he went back to the workshop and sat in the Land Rover. He waited. Nothing. There were no sounds. It was cool and still.
‘I’ve cracked it!’ he smiled. ‘Another few weeks and this will be on the road.’
Ali put all the papers back in the case and stood at the window. She thought about poor Auntie May and Patsy … until she saw what was down the garden. The holly tree’s leaves were brown and falling. They blew across the dead grass. Nothing grew at the bottom of the garden. There was a bare patch where Tom had buried the box. No birds would go near.
The Land Rover was looking good. Tom and his mates had done a great job. The engine and the bodywork were as good as new when the day came to go on the road for the first time. People came to watch the big launch. The local paper printed the story: HIDDEN FOR HALF A CENTURY. It told of Tom’s hard work and printed the photo of Uncle Edgar by a pyramid.
The Land Rover was great to drive. It handled well in ice and snow. But then Tom heard the buzzing of flies again. The heat inside became so unbearable he had to get out in the freezing wind to cool down. He didn’t tell anyone – even when he became ill.
The doctors said Tom must have caught malaria when he’d been abroad. He had to rest, so he left the Land Rover in the garage for months – until an American phoned.
‘Hi, Tom. We’ve seen all the stuff about your old Land Rover. Can we use it? We’re making a movie. Of course, we’ll pay you.’
Tom felt really proud when the film crew came to drive the Land Rover away, but he wasn’t prepared for the call a few days later – nor the headline in the paper.
FILM STAR KILLED BY COBRA.
She died on the film set … while sitting in Tom’s Land Rover.
With the Land Rover back in his garage, Tom decided to get rid of it.
‘It’s for the best. It upsets me, but who knows what may happen next?’
He paused as he held Ali’s hand. ‘I can’t drive it any more. There’s something about it. Uncle Edgar knew that. I’ll have to destroy it. Tonight when it’s dark, I’m going to dump it in the lake.’
They looked down into the murky water of Tarn Lake. Tom felt sick – not just from what he was about to do, but from driving the Land Rover. Even with all the windows open, the heat and smell inside had been too much. Ali had driven her Mini – to take them home again.
Tom released the hand brake and stood back. The Land Rover rolled forward. He couldn’t watch as his pride and joy plunged down the bank. It hit the water and spun onto its roof. A sheet of spray shot across the lake. Within seconds, the wheels sank below the bubbling water. Down and down. Down to the dark and muddy depths.
Ali held Tom’s hand and led him away. He was unable to speak as they drove back in the darkness.
No one mentioned the Land Rover for days … until they saw the News on TV. A reporter was standing on the bank of Tarn Lake. She told the chilling news of an angler found floating in the icy water. But he hadn’t drowned. He’d died from a snake bite to his neck.
Ali rushed outside. She needed to think. She looked down the garden, to the skull’s resting place. At least the grass was growing again now. The holly tree was green once more. That was some relief. Except …
Her heart missed a beat. For there, under the holly tree, lay the skull … gleaming in the moonlight … staring up at her.
Grinning.