Wild, carefree, with the sun on their backs and a warm breeze whistling tunes in their ears, the boys skipped and rolled on the grass. They forgot the misery of the past months, how life had tipped upside down, how much they longed to hug their dad, how much they longed to see their mum smile. Today, those were far from thought.
In shorts that skimmed scabby knees, they ran. An adventure of battles, knights on horseback, or cowboys and Indians. Caked in dirt from scrambling around making dens in the sparse undergrowth, they galloped to the lake that swelled from the river even though they knew they’d be rebuked for doing so.
Don’t go anywhere near the lake. Water is not a good friend. Lizzie had worn a face of such gravity the boys had frowned at each other, neither sure if she’d meant to say more. Instead, she’d handed them an apple for their pockets and a handkerchief for their cuffs.
They quickly grew tired of the water. The hunt for good skimming stones came up short. Oliver lost interest and headed backwards in the direction of the Priory’s ruins that hovered on the horizon with the sun glinting on exposed flints like a beacon.
‘No,’ Elliot shouted. ‘We can’t go up there.’
‘Why not? Look, they’re right there. I’ll race you.’
‘I mean it. She told me to never go there, to never…’ Elliot gathered the conversation, trying to remember. ‘…to never walk under the arches!’
‘What?’
‘Nan told me yesterday. Then that thing with the mud happened…’ Spiders scurried down his back at the memory. ‘It scared me.’
‘But you weren’t at the ruins, were you? You were nowhere near them,’ Oliver declared, shoving his twin’s shoulder.
‘It doesn’t matter. It was a warning, Oli. We’re not going there.’ Elliot stamped his foot. A flurry of tiny flies hit the air. ‘I’m the oldest. So, what I say goes.’
Elliot turned to leave. He stomped through the long, brown grass and watched the creatures that dared to live on the grounds scurry about. Refusing to look over his shoulder, he walked faster and faster to distance himself from the ruins, for in truth, he heard them call him.
They rambled for a while, not a word passing between them. Elliot felt the scorn on Oliver’s face, his thoughts shouted in his head, but he wouldn’t give in, not now. Making a pathway through the barren land, they tracked back past the Priory. Oliver had overtaken him, running with a stick in his hand, thrashing the grass. Why couldn’t they just be the boys they had been?
Elliot couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched his favourite TV shows. In front of the telly, Saturday teatime, watching The Incredible Hulk, which had been his time with Dad. Mum and Oli had always been off doing something or other. Elliot had never cared what. He’d buried himself in the living room with his dad by his side. If he were a superhero, he’d have battled and saved Dad.
The twins ran towards the crossroads. Elliot flew on the breeze with his anorak spread wide like a cape. For a moment, he felt light—he’d be a hero now. He’d keep them all safe like Dad should have done.
The great oak loomed overhead, taller and thicker than it had ever seemed. It no longer felt ominous or dangerous. Lizzie had said to steer clear, to stay well back because it wasn’t a good place to play.
Lizzie was wrong. It was the perfect place.
The boys lay on the grass, sprawled out under the great boughs of the oak. The grass appeared a little greener than it had. Perhaps the sunshine made it so. Elliot looked over at Oliver, who lay back with his hands clasped behind his head, resting on a tree root. His eyes closed, comfortable, relaxed; he appeared different. His face was dirty; that seemed wrong somehow, a smudge of what might have been jam around his mouth, now dried with dirt. No matter how Elliot struggled, he couldn’t see why it felt dishonest like his brother was an imposter.
Chilling fear churned in his belly. It wasn’t the anger and sadness that had consumed him whilst he held the old walking stick but a blacker feeling that made his skin itch with panic. The same feeling he’d had with Dad that day.
‘Come on. I’ll race you up the tree.’ Oliver scrambled to his feet. He laughed as he scuffed the front of his new Wellington boots on the bark.
‘Mum’s gonna kill you for that,’ Elliot said. ‘They’re brand new.’
‘What do I care? Honestly, they’re just wellies.’ Oliver waved his foot at Elliot’s face. ‘Look. What does a little scuff matter?’
He climbed the tree. Bony legs dangled from the main branch that reached out farther than any other. Its twiggy fingers extended towards the house, pointing at the stone rose window in the frame of the gable roof. The boys had never ventured up that far. Mum had said the words with a tone like thunder: never go up there. They had no idea why. It hadn’t been of any interest at the time.
Yet, now, as Oliver stood on the branch looking towards the Priory, that window called to him. It reflected the morning sun, glinting in code like a smoke signal to come and play.
‘Shall we go and see what’s up there?’ Oliver pointed at the window, his thin arm stretched beyond the branch, and squinted with one eye.
‘Get down,’ Elliot ordered. ‘You know we shouldn’t climb. We shouldn’t even be down this far.’
‘You are such a bore sometimes. It’s just a tree. What do you think’s gonna happen? Is it gonna pick up its roots and walk to the house to get us in the middle of the night?’ he laughed. ‘Just come up here, will you?’
‘No.’
‘Because you’re scared.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. You’re no fun anymore, Elliot. Come on, have a look from up here.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Are you gonna make me? You’ve gotta climb up here to get me first.’
Elliot scrambled to his feet; with a quivering lip, he reached up to the first branch. Before he got any higher, it began. It was slight at first—a minor judder, nothing more. Oliver stood on the vast bough, his arms stretched to a higher branch, the rubber soles of his wellies gripping the bark.
‘Look at me. I bet I can walk to the end. You can see the whole house from here. Do you think she’s watching us out of her window?’
‘Why are you so mean today? This isn’t you, Oli.’
The desperate want to shove his brother off the branch fleeted before his eyes, and although Elliot shook it away, it clutched his chest in a vice-like grip.
‘The window, it’s…’ Oliver stopped. ‘Look! Can you see them?’ He walked along the branch, edging closer to the thin end.
‘No, don’t do it.’ Elliot’s heart pounded. It wasn’t fear of his twin falling but something else. Something worse. Something deadly. ‘Please don’t. I’m going home. I don’t want to play with you anymore—not when you’re like this. It’s wrong, and I don’t like it.’
Elliot fell back two steps and let go of the low bough, his ankle twisted as he landed. Oliver stood high above on the lumbering limb, his eyes locked, wide, staring.
‘Just come down.’
With his hands shielding his eyes against the sun, Elliot gazed up into the tree. An eerie stillness to his brother made his heart gallop.
‘Come down, Oli!’
But his brother remained still, static, fixed on the branch, with only his mouth moving.
‘What? I can’t hear you.’
Oliver let the branch slip from his hands then his arms fell by his side. The only thing in Elliot’s head was explaining to their mother that he let Oli fall. What if he died like Dad? Would Mum blame him for it? The blackness churned in the pit of his belly again. He screamed, shouted for Oliver to get down from the branch, to stop being so horrible. Fear gripped his gullet, his voice lost as he silently cried.
Scrambling to stand, Elliot gripped the soles of his new wellies on the huge tree root; catching the bark, he slipped backwards. It appeared to move, rumble under the earth. Then, with a deep breath, he stood looking back up at his brother. The top of the oak was thicker now. It covered the sky, blocking out the sunshine, casing him with leaf-mottled shadows.
He wanted Mum. Needed to run back, get help, tell her that the oak was trying to take Oliver.
‘You are going nowhere, young heir.’
A twisted vine unravelled from the tree’s thick trunk. Slowly, it looped around Elliot’s ankle and squeezed his Wellington boot to his leg. He screamed and looked up at Oliver. His twin said nothing, did nothing.
It began to tremble, the tree, the roots, the earth beneath his feet. The ground shuddered, softly at first, gradually gaining strength. Every spiky twig, each rough streak in the bark, all the old knots in the great oak convulsed. Ripe acorns pelted down over Elliot, bruising his bare skin as he squirmed to free his foot.
‘Hold on, Oli! It’s going to make you fall off!’ he yelled over and over for Oliver to hold on. ‘Please, just come down. Be careful.’
Oliver stood perfectly still, his face vacant and his eyes staring as the whole oak quaked around him. Elliot could do nothing but watch amid the pelting acorns. It was as if his brother had vanished, and there stood someone else entirely.