Chapter 3

“Would you like some more lemonade, Peter?” Pete was stuck in an incredibly dull conversation with the vicar’s wife. He had only accepted the first glass of lemonade to be polite. It was horrible; it tasted as if someone had liquidised lemon-flavoured gravel. Pete wondered when Harriet was going to show up.
“Oh, no thank you, Mrs Miller” said Pete as politely as he could.
“Well, if you’re sure...” and at long last she hobbled off to talk to an elderly couple by the cakes.
Pete spotted Harriet walking down the street with her parents. Her striking hair wasn’t hard to miss. It seemed as if it was slightly messier than usual, as though Harriet was silently rebelling against the formalities of the picnic through her hair-do. Pete was anxious to tell Harriet about Gus.
“Pete!” Harriet had seen him.
“Harriet, I’m glad you're here, I really need to talk to you - ” began Pete, but he was interrupted.
“You're in my way” growled a voice behind Pete. He turned round to see a tall figure with cold, dark eyes.
“Move!” barked this person and as he did so, Pete noticed a tooth was missing. Pete carefully stepped aside, and saw Harriet looking puzzled.
“I’m not sure I know him... he doesn’t look much older than us, does he? I'm sure I haven’t seen him at school” Harriet said quietly.
“Look, Harriet - ” Pete began again, but was interrupted for a second time. It was Mrs Miller.
“Peter and Harriet, dears, I see you have met my son” she said, with a somewhat forced smile. “Simon, come here please!” she called over her shoulder, and the tall boy came shuffling back across the lawn. “Simon, darling, this is Peter, and Harriet, and they live here in the village. Why don’t you make friends...?” she looked desperately at Simon, frowned, and wandered off to resume her conversation with the elderly couple. Simon let out a harsh laugh.
“You look like the wimpiest people I have ever seen. Hey... you!” He pointed at Peter. “Wanna fight?”
“F - Fight?” spluttered Pete incredulously. The request had come out of the blue, but Pete had a sneaking suspicion it was more than a mere request. He doubted the level of choice he had.
“Yeah, fight. Y’know, like, fighting...” Simon said, looking increasingly bored at Pete’s utter confusion.
“I... I've never fought someone before. I don’t even know h - ” began Pete but he had to stop, because Simon had just punched him on the nose. Pete yelped in pain and he could feel warm blood running down his face. He staggered back, but Simon had hooked his foot around Pete’s ankle. Pete lost his balance and fell hard onto his back, and had all his breath knocked out of him. Simon laughed. As he turned to walk away, Harriet hurried to help Pete to his feet.
“Are you alright? Gosh, you've got a lot of blood on your face, Pete... oh, let me go and hit that guy, Pete... here let me help you” Harriet rambled quickly as Pete straightened up.
Pete and Harriet moved over to the table where Mrs Wilson was engaged in polite conversation with Mr Lossanger who had recently moved into the small town, and lived opposite the school.
“Mum, can I go home, please?” Pete asked cautiously. Mrs Wilson looked up.
“Good grief Peter, what have you done to your face? Go home at once and wash!”
*
“Right, Harriet,” began Pete once again. At least now he knew he couldn't be disturbed. Pete had brought Harriet into his barn, for privacy from his mother. Harriet needed to know about Gus.
“Harriet, there was this guy in my barn. He was really old, and he materialised out of nowhere!”
Harriet stared in disbelief. “ I know what you're going to say,” continued Pete. “I'm not crazy!”
“Well, Pete, you've quite clearly gone mad. I'm going to have to fetch a doctor. I'm mildly surprised it didn't happen sooner. It was nice knowing you, Pete” sighed Harriet.
She tried to leave but Pete grabbed her arm.
“No, Harriet, listen! I'm not mad. Look, I can prove it-” started Pete but, how did you call him? Gus had said just call, but he didn't explain how. “Gus?” Pete tried quietly, and immediately he knew it had worked when he saw the ominous patch of dark air towards the centre of the room.
“Who's Gus? What are you looking at, Pete?” began Harriet.
“Shhh... Over there. There, do you see it? That bit of air over there is dark. Oh, it's a cloud already!” said Pete excitedly.
Harriet still looked sceptical. Pete watched her face to see her expression as she finally saw the dense air in front of her.
“Woah... What is that?” she asked, amazed.
“It's Gus, he's coming. It's how he materialises.”

Chapter 2

“Sorry about your cows. That seems to happen a lot... my name is Gus, by the way.” Gus held out his hand for Pete to shake, but Pete was to terrified to move. Gus frowned at him. He absently scratched his head, and looked around. “You don’t live here, do you? It’s a bit of a mess...” said Gus.

“No, this is the barn” said Pete quietly, once he had found his voice. Who was this man? He looked slightly frail... as if he spent much of his time materialising in people’s barns. Pete felt as if he could put his hand right through Gus, as if he wasn’t quite there. It was a very strange feeling and it made Pete uncomfortable.

“Oh! I was going to say... oh never mind” Said Gus. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Pete still stared. How could this be possible?

“RARGH!” Gus suddenly jumped at Pete.

“AAAGH! What was that for?!” Pete yelled, shocked.

“Perhaps now you'll stop STARING AT ME. I don’t appreciate it.” Said Gus indignantly. Pete blushed.

“Sorry” he said quietly. “But you didn’t need to scare me like that”

“Scare? That’s nothing. You don’t know the meaning of the word scared. Where you're headed, you’re going to get a bit more than scared, mate.” Said Gus.

“Where I’m headed? What do you mean?” Pete asked, thoroughly confused.

“Oh, of course! I didn’t actually tell you yet, did I? Silly me... OK. Right. You're going to Stormy Mountain.” Said Gus, matter-of-factly, as if nothing and no-one could contradict him. Nothing registered in Pete’s mind. He was completely bewildered.

“You're joking”

“I most certainly am not” replied Gus, looking slightly hurt.

“But I’m only twelve!” This was too much for Pete. He was still getting over the fact that this little old man had materialised into his barn. Stormy Mountain was the stuff of legends. The story Pete had written all those years ago looked as if it was about to become reality. But surely, wasn’t that impossible? Harriet didn’t even think the mountain existed.

Pete tried to remember the legend. Words drifted across his mind... Spitting fire... Drowning travellers... Golden Water...

“The Higher Powers seem to think you're perfect for the job” Gus continued. “Personally I don’t see how. I’ve never seen a scrawnier twelve year old in my life, and I’ve lived a long time.”

“Job? What job?” asked Pete.

“Well you didn’t think you were going on holiday, did you? Stupid boy. You're going to collect the water from the Pool of Miracles at the top. You are familiar with the legend, yes?” said Gus sternly.

“Yes, but why me? What do I have to do with anything?” enquired Pete. He was still confused, but the whole idea was starting to rouse his interest. If someone believed in him that much, Pete decided he would do everything in his power to prove them right.

“Questions, questions!” wailed Gus. “I don’t know the answer to everything, boy! I’m just a messenger for the Higher Powers! They don’t deem it necessary to fill their employees in on this kind of thing. If you want answers take it up with them.”

And with that he vanished. He vanished much faster than he appeared, as if on arrival he had wanted to make a big entrance, but now he couldn’t wait to leave.

That night, after his mother had let him out of the barn, Pete lay awake in bed thinking about what Gus had said. Where was Stormy Mountain? Pete was just as confused as before. Why didn’t Gus tell Pete who he was working for, or why? Who was the water for?

The next morning, Pete was woken by his mother shouting and cursing in the kitchen. It seemed that she had tripped over the saucepan that Pete had knocked over yesterday. He had forgotten to pick it up... he was going to pay for that.

A feeling of dread started to sink into Pete’s stomach and it took him a while to figure out why as he got up and let his eyes adjust to the early morning sunlight. And then he remembered; the church picnic. Slowly, he also recalled his mother telling him he had to go, and stay with her. And then he spotted the hideous shirt on the chair beside his bed. Pete got dressed and went into the kitchen.

“What has taken you so long? We leave in ten minutes” barked Mrs Wilson.

“Morning Mum” said Pete cheerfully. He was determined not to let his mother get him angry. As it was, he was feeling optimistic about the picnic. However boring it may be, at least Harriet would be there, so perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. Mrs Wilson shot Pete a suspicious look.

“Peter, fetch your coat” And together they left.

Chapter 1

“No, Mum, I won’t!” Pete said for the hundredth time.
“Peter Henry Wilson, you will wear this shirt if it’s the last thing you do! Now, sit still or you’ll end up with a pin in your arm again.” Mrs Wilson retorted angrily. However, it wasn’t the shirt that was bothering Pete. He and his mother had been invited to the parish picnic, a tedious event that happened every year, as a way of welcoming new people to the village.
“Mum, why do I have to go? Everyone knows me already! Besides, I don’t even go to church” argued Pete.
“That may soon change, Pete. I do expect you to talk to the vicar and his wife, and be polite for once, will you?” said Mrs Wilson. But Pete thought that would be all the more reason for him to stay at home. What was the point in meeting the vicar? Pete had no interest in dull, old men.
“Oh, and Pete, the vicar will bring along his son, Simon. Perhaps you could get to know him. I’m sure he’s very interesting, with the upbringing he’s had.” said Mrs Wilson cheerily. But Pete had other ideas. Great, I have to spend my afternoon with a religious nerd, he thought moodily, as he sat picking at the threads on the sleeve of the hideous shirt he was wearing.
“Alright, I’ll go... just promise you’ll let me walk home if I get bored.” Which I will, he added in his head.
“Peter, you know how I feel about you going through town by yourself. You are only twelve! But, I’ll allow it. Just, please, be careful!” said Mrs Wilson with a stern edge to her voice. Pete knew that this was a one-off agreement. It was fragile, and if he misbehaved he might end up staying with the vicar permanently. Feeling that this was an acceptable compromise, Pete went to his room in the attic. That was the only thing wrong with the house, according to Pete. He hated living in the roof. But the rest of their home was simply beautiful.
It was only one floor, but that suited Pete and his mother. After all, it was only them living there. Like many of the houses in the village, it had no electricity, and no running water. But there was a large pump outside in the yard, and several buckets by the back door. So when Pete needed a bath, or Mrs Wilson needed to wash dishes or clothes, the pair of them would grab a bucket or two, march across the yard to the pump together, and collect as much water as they could carry, whilst carefully avoiding the numerous chickens scattered around the front of the house. Once inside, they would tip it all into a huge pan over the fireplace in the kitchen.
But bothersome as this may be, it meant that Pete had soon become used to carrying water around, and was much stronger than an average twelve year old. He was also very fast. He had won the race at a recent village charity event, and the prize had been a pie from the local bakery. Pete had then eaten the entire pie in one go, following a particularly disgusting concoction from his mothers cookery book.
Pete looked across now at the empty plate in his room where the pie had once stood. He wished he hadn’t eaten it all, because he was now rather hungry. So he quietly changed out of the horrible shirt his mother had been fitting and into an old, comfy t-shirt, and climbed down the ladder from his room and stepped into the hallway.
He went to the kitchen door and saw his mother starting the washing up. He knew he couldn’t get past her without being accused of being a thief. Beyond his mother the pantry door stood, looking so very inviting to Pete’s hungry eyes, so he made a plan.
He silently unlatched the front door and went around the front of the house, making sure to dodge chickens to avoid drawing attention to himself. He let himself through the side gate and crouched down underneath the kitchen window so his mother wouldn’t see him. He then carefully crawled to the back door and into the pantry. He looked up at the door that went through to the kitchen. He could still see his mother happily washing dishes through the frosted glass in the door. Feeling confident that he had successfully escaped from his mother, he stood up, turned around and started to raid the cupboards.
And then, without warning, Pete had knocked a saucepan that was hanging on a shelf, and it went crashing to the floor.
“What the...? What on earth is going on in there? I’m gonna kill those blooming raccoons!” Pete’s mother’s voice came ringing from the kitchen. Pete looked around. He had nowhere to hide. He could go back out of the back door... but he had shut it when he came in. Would Mum hear it open? He thought, but he didn’t have time to move before the kitchen was flung wide, and Mrs Wilson came bursting through. Pete froze, like a rabbit caught in headlights.
“Peter! What do you think you’re doing?!” Mrs Wilson was livid.
“I... I –" stammered Pete. He could see how much trouble he was now in. Slowly, the image of him coming home alone for once, perhaps stopping at the bakery to pick up a pastry, was fading in his mind.
“You can stammer all you like, it doesn’t change the fact you were STEALING!” Mrs Wilson was hysterical with fury. She grabbed Pete by his ear, which wasn’t unexpected, and dragged him into the barn behind the house. “You can stay in this barn until you learn that NO-ONE steals from MY pantry! And while you're here, you can clean up this dump! When I get back I want to see this place tidier than it has ever been!” and with that she stormed out, bolting the barn doors as she went. “And you will stay at that picnic for as long as I do!” Pete heard her add as she marched away across the yard.
Pete looked up gloomily and wandered slowly around the barn. There were cows tethered around the edge of the barn. Pete had brought them in yesterday for milking. Also scattered around were a few sheep. Pete stopped when he reached his favourite cow, Molly, and said hello. She was watching him in a lazy sort of way. Pete liked that about cows. They always seemed so relaxed, and unbothered by the troubles of the world. Bomb-proof, Pete called it. Molly was opening and shutting her eyes very slowly and Pete knew that this meant she was happy. Pete understood more about animals than his mother ever would. Sometimes, when his friend Harriet was away, and Pete was feeling lonely, he would come into the barn and let the animals keep him company.
Harriet, on the other hand, had no time for animals. Her parents shared a shop in the village, selling fabric and repairing clothes. Mrs Wilson also had a shop. She sold farm produce. Every drop of milk from the cows, and every egg from the chickens that Pete had so diligently collected went into the shop.
However, Pete had learnt not to argue, unless he wanted to spend the day in the barn. Initially, Pete had thought that this was a brilliant punishment! He loved watching and talking to the animals. But the fun soon wore off, after a whole week of being locked in with the cows and sheep. He now found himself very bored, which he was sure was the point of the punishment, so instead of talking to the animals he would climb up into the hayloft and watch them as he wrote stories and poems to amuse himself.
His favourite story was one he had written after hearing an old local legend about a mountain that spat fire, and drowned anyone who tried to climb to its summit. According to the legend, there was a pool of golden water at the top, and if anyone drank the water they would become very strong. The story Pete had written was about him and Harriet, and in his story they climbed the mountain and brought down the water for everyone to drink. They became local heroes.
Pete had shown Harriet the story once it was finished, but she laughed at him. She didn’t believe in the legend. After that day Pete never showed anyone else his work.
So once again he settled himself down amongst the straw, and dust, and spiders. He watched Molly as she slowly chewed her hay. All thought escaped Pete as he sat there. He had nothing to write about.
Molly was making a very strange noise. It had happened quite suddenly and it made Pete jump. He leapt down to see what wrong with her. As he got closer, he could see fear in her eyes. She was staring at something. He tried to see what it was, but clearly Molly could see something Pete couldn’t, because there was nothing there. Slowly, the other cows in the room noticed it too, and also started making the strange noise. It was a sort of yelping, but it sounded horribly strangled, as if it pained the cow to make the noise.
Pete looked wildly around the room, desperate to know what was frightening his cows so much. And finally, he saw it too. In the centre of the room, there was a dark patch of air. Pete walked round it. It was about the size of a man, but it had no shape. And yet, as Pete stared in horror, the air seemed to condense into a thick black cloud. The cloud became darker and darker until it was solid, and it was no longer just air. There now stood a man where the cloud once was. A very old, very wild looking man. The man looked around briefly, before spotting Pete and turning to face him.
“Hi” he said to Pete.

Prologue

Officially, the area was called the Valley of the Shining Corn, but for years the people who lived there had called their sleepy, remote little village ‘Salisco’. No-one knew where the word had come from, but the villagers were happy to use it.

Walking down the central high street, one could smell the fresh bread and pastries from Carter’s Bakery, and marvel at the brightly coloured clothes in the Bailey’s shop. Their daughter, Harriet Bailey, could often be seen wandering aimlessly nearby. Harriet was thirteen, but many said she looked much older. She had dark brown eyes and long hair the kind of colour that couldn’t decide whether to be brown or blonde. The resulting appearance was quite odd, and also rather alarming, but that suited Harriet just fine.

The schoolhouse stood at the end of the road, and all of the children in the village attended. There was only one teacher because the class was so small. He was a tall, terrifying man called Mr Pitchley. He was bald, and many of the children delighted in this fact, and laughed behind his back. He also spat when he spoke, much to the distaste of the unfortunate child sat on the front row. The child in question was a twelve year old boy, with mousy brown hair and blue eyes. He was quite small for his age, and his name was Peter Wilson. At the start of this story, Pete was in the kitchen of his home, with his mother, Annie Marie.