“A witch?” her mother said, hugging her hard. “Here, in the house?” Meeting her husband’s eyes in sudden understanding, she looked thoughtful. “I wonder if that’s what’s been going on!”
Neil’s head jerked. “If what’s been going on, Mum?” he queried.
“Come down to the kitchen and I’ll tell you while I get dinner ready,” his mother said, looking searchingly at Clara. “It’s given you a shock, hasn’t it?”
“It has a bit,” Clara admitted. “She was awful-looking.”
“Was she a Snow Witch?” Neil asked as they went into the kitchen and slid along the bench seat that ran along one side of the table.
Clara shook her head, remembering the Snow Witches that had captured her in Argyle. “The Snow Witches were beautiful,” she said, “but this one was a proper witch, dressed in black with a sort of squidgy pointed hat and a hooked nose.”
“Tell us what happened, Clara,” her dad said quietly, drawing a chair up, “from the very beginning. You ran upstairs with Neil … now go on from there.”
“Well, we both went into our own rooms,” Clara began. “Mine’s lovely, by the way. I really like it …”
“And …” her father said encouragingly.
“I heard Neil opening cupboards and stuff so I thought I’d grab the carpet samples first. I sat on my bed and was turning them over, one by one, on the ring thing when … when this witch walked into my room. Cool as you please as though she owned the place! I gave a bit of a jerk and the samples fell off the bed and while I faffed around picking them up, I decided to pretend I couldn’t see her. I sat on my bed again, got the samples organized and kept turning them over, matching them up to the duvet cover. And all the time, the witch sat in the chair by the window watching me. That’s all she did. Sat and stared. She didn’t have a clue that I could see her.”
“What happened next?” her mother asked anxiously.
“Well, I thought she might get fed up and leave so I looked up and gazed straight at her. And then she suddenly realized that I was watching her. Honestly, it was almost funny! She sort of sat up and stared. She knew by my eyes that I could see her.” Clara almost smiled. “Her mouth dropped open and she looked …”
“Totally gobsmacked!” grinned Neil.
“Yes, I suppose so. And then she went all fierce and evil and I thought she was going to hex me. That’s when I screamed and she buzzed off.”
Janet MacLean looked worriedly at her husband but Neil and Clara eyed one another excitedly. Witches! Life in the country was certainly looking up!
Just then the telephone rang. John picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said. “Hello? Oh, it’s you, Jimmy. Hi.”
As he talked, Mrs MacLean turned to Neil and Clara and in a low voice, told them what had been happening in the house while they had been in Edinburgh.
“So now you think your ghosts might be witches?” Neil asked doubtfully.
“It seems more than likely,” his mother reasoned. “After all, Clara said that the witch walked into her bedroom as though she owned the place.” She shook her head worriedly. “It looks as though the house has been more or less a den of witches ever since Muriel died! They feel at home here, for goodness sake!”
Clara nodded, looking around the room, feeling excited and scared at the same time.
“There aren’t any witches in the room just now,” her mother said grimly. “I know the feel of them when they’re around only too well. They’ve been keeping me company all week!”
John MacLean finished his telephone conversation and, replacing the receiver, turned round with a strange look on his face.
“What’s up, Dad?” Neil asked.
“That was Jimmy MacFarlane on the phone,” his father answered. “Apparently, some jokers have been making crop circles in the fields round about his farm and he asked me if I’d mind staying out all night with him and his men. They want to catch the people who are making them and as there’s a lot of ground to cover, they need to rope in everyone they can to help.”
“Crop circles,” Clara queried, “in Scotland?”
“I’ve heard about them down south but not here,” Mrs MacLean agreed.
“He really wants to nab them,” her husband continued. “He’s had a few fields done already and can’t afford to lose another crop.”
“Well,” Janet advised, “if you’re going to be scrabbling about in cornfields in the middle of the night, you’d better look out some old gear.”
“Can I come as well, Dad?” Neil asked excitedly.
“He’d be another pair of eyes,” his mother nodded her agreement.
John MacLean didn’t answer immediately, however.
“There’s something else, Dad, isn’t there?” Clara said shrewdly. “I can tell by your face.”
Mrs MacLean looked at her husband in surprise. “What on earth’s the matter, John?” she asked. “Why shouldn’t Neil go with you? He’s old enough now.”
“It’s the crop circles,” he replied. “Apparently, some reporters from The Berwickshire News went out to the farm to write an article about them and, of course, took photographs and …”
“Well?” asked Neil.
“When they examined them it turned out that they were nothing like the crop circles you get in England. These are made up of pentagrams and other magic symbols. They seem to suspect witchcraft …”
“Witches again …” Clara’s mouth went dry but her eyes gleamed excitedly.
Her mother, however, looked at her husband in dismay. More witches!
“Right, Dad,” Neil said determinedly. “I’m definitely coming with you tonight and I’m going to wear my firestone.”
“I’ll lend you mine, Dad,” Clara offered immediately, her hands rising to unclasp the thin chain that held her firestone. “If there are witches around then you’ll want to be able to see them.”
As she fastened the firestone round her father’s neck, Neil moved over to the window and stared outside. Clara’s witch must be long gone, he thought, but still he scanned the sky, hoping to see the black shape of a witch on a broomstick.
Minutes later, Clara moved up behind him, knowing what he was looking for. “Can you see anything?” she asked hopefully.
Neil shook his head. “Not a thing,” he answered.
“We could go outside and poke around a bit,” suggested Clara. “After all, my witch must have been pretty close to the house to come wandering in like that.”
“You haven’t got your firestone on, though,” he objected.
“Never mind,” she said as they headed for the front door, “you can tell me if you see anything.”
A strong wind tugged at Clara’s hair as they left the house, making her wish that she’d worn a jacket but, despite the cold, they walked together down to the clump of trees that bordered the little stream that ran through a corner of the garden.
It was there that Neil gripped Clara’s arm. “Don’t look in the trees,” he whispered, his voice tight with excitement. “There are witches there. They’re not dressed in black, like the one we saw in the house, though. This lot are in grey and, you know, I think Mum was right about them — they do seem to be looking for something.”
They felt the wind strengthen as they entered the copse where the witches, intent on their task, moved from tree to tree on their broomsticks, delving deep into broken trunks and kicking aside piles of leaves.
Pretending that he couldn’t see them, Neil picked up a stone and threw it idly into the stream but all the time he was watching them from the corner of his eye. The witches, however, safe in the knowledge that they were invisible, ignored them completely and it was only when Neil heard his mother’s voice calling them inside that he grasped Clara’s arm.
“Come on,” he whispered, “I don’t know what they’re looking for but we’d better leave them to it.”
Clara nodded, her eyes alight with excitement as she met Neil’s glance. It looked as though life in the country wasn’t going to be half as dull as they’d expected …